The Shadow Child
by The Locale Amidst The Stars
Summary: The story of an unusual opponent for the Hero of Kvatch. She came from the darkness, and fought to remain away from the light for as long as she could.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One._

The night was deathly silent. All the normal sounds that accompanied the sunset had been stifled by some unseen tension. For hours now, there had been no howling wolves, no chirping crickets, no squeaking bats. Nothing. The landscape itself, bleached pale under the wan light from the twin moons, Masser and Secunda, seemed to be holding its collective breath, as a lone rider slowly peaked over the hilltop. The horse itself held a dangerous aura and a terrible beauty. Intelligent ruby eyes glinted under a mane of black silk, and her midnight coat gleamed in the shadows. Her magnificence was glaring in contrast to her rider – a shadowed figure who sat straight on her unsaddled back, glaring at the wilderness around him with dark, wary eyes.

"Even the hunters can become the hunted sometimes_"_, he mused under his breath. Sensing nothing that posed a danger to her rider or herself, the horse began her descent, seeming to need no guiding hand from her master. The cloaked man looked around once more, peering through the darkness. The mare halted as a bush to their far right gave an slight rustle. The man tensed, eyes flashing under his black hood and with a slight flick of his wrist and the soft snap of leather, there appeared a silver stiletto knife in his hand, whose edge glowed red in the darkness. The blade thin enough to slip between ribs, yet strong enough to withstand the impact of bone, he carried several such weapons upon his person, ready to be unsheathed at a moments notice. He twirled the knife between his fingers as he surveyed his surroundings. There was a tense silence, when time itself seemed to stretch, the straining blanket of apprehension that overlay the landscape stretching taut... Until a rabbit came bounding across the winding path, eyes rolling with fear and ears flat against its head. The man smirked and sheathed his weapon as his horse sprang forward, eyes glinting malevolently as her jaws opened to snatch up the terrified creature and swallow it whole.

"Shadowmere," he chuckled reproachfully, a hint of sadistic humour in his smirk, "Don't you think that was a tad unnecessary?"

The horse snorted derisively, shaking her head to disperse the drops of blood which spattered her nose. Lucien idly admired the way the crimson splashes contrasted against the white rock, the broken relics of some long-forgotten Ayleid fortress. Shaking his head in rueful amusement, he clicked his tongue softly. Once again, horse and rider strode off into the night, forgoing the main road that led into Cheydinhal and instead following the path curving up towards the ruined fort in the distance, an ancient stone sentinel watching over the sleeping town.  
Lucien smiled to himself. It felt so good to be home again.

As the night faded, and the dawn grew over Cyrodiil, a lone guard huffed and puffed against the chilled wind blowing across the Niben Bay.

The air around the bay was quivering with unchecked magic. Flashes of colour and streaks of lightening spread across the clouds as they raced towards the small island which stood isolated in the murky waters. A strange stone door shimmered in the dawn air, and the guard looked at it fearfully. '_By the Nine', _he thought miserably, '_Why is it I always get stuck with this sort of job?' _

The door itself seemed no threat, despite the hideous visage it presented. A gaping mouth flanked by two faces, one placidly facing east and the other snarling to the west. The guard shivered. Nothing nasty had appeared through the portal as of yet, but he knew his luck wouldn't last forever. No sooner had this thought crossed his mind, then the clouds raging overhead came screeching towards the door, the air condensing into a swirling white mist. There was a crash of thunder and the echoes of manic laughter could be heard on the rapidly dying wind. Then, as suddenly as the storm had appeared, it abated. The rising sun broke through the bank of clouds, and the air lost its oppressive feel. The sky gradually lightened, and the guard sighed in relief. He was nearing the end of his shift, and of his rope too. Calming himself, he turned and settled himself more comfortably against the rocky outcrop and promptly near fell off it in shock when he noticed a solitary figure laying prone and motionless in the dust.

The guard hesitantly drew his silver shortsword and crept closer to the body, alert for any threatening or sudden movement. Seeing none, he approached more calmly, and knelt by the figure.

_At least it's still breathing, _he thought, although he wasn't sure if that was necessarily a good thing yet. He placed a heavy gauntlet upon the figure's cloak and pulled the fabric back carefully, only to reveal a pair of raging black eyes staring right back at him. He jumped back, startled, as the figure sat up and shrugged the cloak off its shoulders. It was a young girl, maybe 18 or 19. He couldn't tell what race she was, which astounded him. As a Bravil guard, he prided himself upon being able to recognise anybody's background simply from their appearance - from the more obvious Khajiit and Argonian, to the more subtle Altmer halfbreeds. But this girl's appearance flummoxed him. Her hair was a deep black that was accented with a crimson tint, like a raven drenched in blood, and it grew wild and curly. She had small pointed ears that peeked through her locks, not quite as pronounced as an elf, not quite as rounded as a pureblood human. Her skin was so pale it was almost glowing, and her enormous eyes were as black as the Void. They were full of swirling anger, almost hypnotic in their apparent madness. But her face remained blank, almost bored looking. She was pretty enough, with a small graceful nose and pale lips, but there was something unsettling about her. The guard started. She was examining him just as much as he was her, and the look of confusion and fear that flashed across her face for an instant surely mirrored his own. The silence stretched, until at last, the guard straightened his cuirass carefully and coughed.  
"Ahem, are you... are you alright, Miss?"

He didn't notice the slight twitching of her ears as he spoke. He did, however, catch the look of irritation cross her face before it smoothed out again. His fingers warily strayed towards the hilt of his now-sheathed sword, the barest whisper of a threat and a movement she did not ignore. Her eyes shot to meet his again, and he gulped in fear as he saw the barely concealed rage encompassed there grow exponentially.

"Where am I?"

Her voice did not match the savageness in her eyes. It was restrained, yet steady. Her accent lilted with her words, sounding almost musical. But the fury remained in her tone as she began to glance around, already having decided that the guard was of no immediate threat to her. As he observed her, a soft scent reached his nostrils. It was reminiscent of the house he grew up in; a mixture of baking bread and lavender soap, the smell of his mother's perfume. He relaxed instantly as he inhaled, dropping his guard completely as the comforting aura of his childhood settled across his shoulders. He smiled beatifically.

"You are not far from Bravil, Miss. My name is Gaius Prentus, I'm one of the town's guards."

_'The poor fool sounds almost proud of it', _she thought, vaguely amused.

"What's your name? Where did you come from?" he asked, hesitantly. She did not deign to answer.

_'She must have come through the portal_,' he reasoned, shuddering as he recalled the nightmares he'd had over what lay on the other side. Noticing his glance backwards, the girl's gaze shifted behind him and darkened. She glared at the horrendous stone faces looming over them, and – to Gaius' amazement – actually growled at them.

"I'd stay back from that door if I were you. Nothing that's gone in has come out right"

_'Ah, now I see.'_

She chuckled darkly to herself, before returning her cold stare back to the imbecile who was still blabbering. She raised an arched eyebrow as she waited for him to stop. Sensing her impatience, Gaius stuttered to a halt. He shook his head, confused. He had fought countless skirmishes, and faced all kinds of hideous foes, from bandits, to vampires and even trolls. Why did he fear this small slip of a girl, who was unarmed and obviously in a weakened and fragile state? She had barely said anything at all, and it was clear that she had no intention of answering his questions. He felt uneasy in her presence, as she seemed to be unhinged, yet he could not abandon his post.

"Bravil is that way, Miss." He pointed over her shoulder and hoped she'd take the hint. "You can take one of the boats back and..."

Whatever his next words were going to be, they never got past his teeth. The girl had sprung as soon as his gaze had shifted to the town behind her, lightning fast and obviously not as unarmed and helpless as he had previously assumed. She wielded a strange black dagger, razor sharp with what appeared to be a bone handle. It flashed out of sight under his chin, and he staggered back as blood sprayed out, soaking his armour and the girl's face, who froze with an insane grin on her face. Her hand shaking with excitement, she grazed her fingertips across her drenched cheeks and gazed curiously at the blood clinging to her fingers. Raising them to her mouth, she licked it off slowly, closing her eyes as she savoured the hot, metallic taste. Gaius slumped to the ground, blood leaking into the grass as his fearful eyes slowly glazed over. A final choking, shuddering sigh escaped his lips, and his hand fell away from his ravaged neck. The girl smirked in satisfaction, and licked her blade clean, two tiny fangs glinting in the pale light of the dawn.

_'Wasn't he dull?'_

Turning around, she glanced at the outline of Bravil's town walls in the distance. She considered them briefly, before turning back and stepping over the still-warm corpse. Her feet led her to the water's edge, and without the slightest hesitation, she carried on walking. Water-walking was a fairly common ability to those versed in basic Alteration spells. But this was different. She didn't just walk across the surface of the lake. Black ice spread across the surface of the water where her feet made contact, only to recede again once she had moved on. In this manner, she made her way across the water, her tiny figure disappearing into the hazy mist that drifted across the opposite shore.

_The image shivered as the magic holding it in place receded. A frame of mist was all that remained, hanging in the air. A wave of a cane dispersed it, and the figure holding it gave a laugh of delight. "Well, Haskill", came a low yet melodic voice. "I believe you owe me a bottle or two. She's barely been there ten minutes and she's already murdered somebody. You have to admire her bloodlust." The figure bent over, cackling madly._

_The other man stood nearby, looking as bored as usual. _

"_It would appear that our dear Relmyna may have exceeded herself with this one. Tallys certainly takes after her... well, 'Mother' " came the droll reply._

"_Indeed. The little minx...", the first figure said, giggling softly. He sat back in his throne, brooding under the vast branches of the tree behind him. The man who had been addressed stepped back politely and prepared to leave the vast chamber in which they stood, before a sarcastic cough sounded behind him. _

"_I don't recall saying you could leave, Haskill. Where do you think you're going?" asked the first man, poking his steward in the chest with his cane. _

"_As ever, nowhere, My Lord. Nowhere."_

"_Good man. Bring out the cheese!" The man in the throne rubbed his hands together gleefully, "We have work to do!"_


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Shadowmere snorted happily as she came to a stop. She could smell the fort; its stone walls always made her feel safe. She was home. Lucien slid gracefully off her back, and shouldered his pack.  
"You've done very well, girl" he muttered softly, a tinge of pride in his words. He stroked her nose once, before tapping her flank.

"Go on, go get some rest." The horse nickered at him before sloping off into the shadows. Lucien sighed contentedly, rolling his left shoulder to ease some of the stiffness. The guards in Bravil were not known for their skill in combat, but one lucky bastard had managed to clip him in the arm with his shield. Lucien had responded with a quick slice to the throat, and the man had slumped to the floor instantly, silently drowning in his own blood. But that did not mean that the assassin had escaped unscathed.

_'Guess I'll just have to be more careful next time,' _he thought ruefully. It didn't do well to be careless in his profession. It was all too common for members of the Dark Brotherhood to grow too confident in their abilities, only to find themselves floating in the Void at the feet of their Dread Father a moment later.

_'Does Sithis even have feet? Does He have what we would describe as a physical body?'_

Lucien grimaced. It was too early in the morning to be pondering such philosophical questions. Right now, he just wanted food and rest. And maybe a bath too. The effect of constant riding for three days has a way of making itself known to the nostrils.

A few hours later, after a filling meal and a blessedly undisturbed slumber, Lucien found himself brooding by the fire. The magical flames were a deep red, so as not to effect his natural night-vision when he traversed his subterranean lair. He held a silver goblet in one hand, his other rhythmically tapping against the worn leather arm of his only chair. His deep brown eyes reflected the firelight, flames dancing in the endless depths. He sighed irritably, raising his hand to drain the rest of the wine.

_'Idiot Bosmer. What on Earth was the Night Mother thinking, appointing him Listener,' _he groused. Ever since that little s'wit had become the leader of the Black Hand, he had made his distaste for Lucien and his Sanctuary in Cheydinhal known. Gone were the days of exciting and complicated contracts, gone were the blood-freezing missions that Lucien yearned for. Instead, he was now little more than a glorified bureaucrat. He growled to himself.

_'And now I've been charged with the monumental task of chasing all around Cyrodiil after this strange interloper. Why couldn't she have just stayed near Bravil? Oh no, she had to go careering round into the wilderness, setting up camp near Lake Canulus, just as I arrived all the way back in Cheydinhal. Stupid little girl.' _

As he considered the upcoming journey, no doubt fraught with discomfort and inconvenience, his bad temper grew and grew until finally, he hurled the goblet at the opposing wall. It shattered, and the resulting sound reverberated around the room, echoing off the stone walls before fading away to an eerie silence. He glared at the offending vessel, before cursing under his breath and exiting through his trapdoor, his black cloak swirling around his ankles as he slipped through the hole and vanished into the night.

_'Woe betide this annoying little wretch when I find her. If she's lucky, I'll kill her quickly.'_

Tallys too was sat brooding, staring into the flames of her campfire. It had been nearly a week since she had been catapulted into this world, and she was starting to believe she'd never escape its mundane landscape and dull sky. Her only excitement had came when she'd been attacked by bandits, who had foolishly overlooked the fact that a strange girl sitting so calmly all alone in the wilderness was probably somebody best avoided. She'd relished the battle, and indeed, she'd only killed a dozen or so more people since the Bravil guard on her way here. Her midnight gaze shifted to scan the water of the lake. When the air was still, like tonight, the water sat motionless. It resembled a huge mirror, reflecting the night sky and the twin moons. It was nowhere near as stunning as the nocturnal vista back in the Isles, but it was a comforting sight none the less.

She sighed, before laying back against the tree. Its roots encircled her, making her feel safe and secure. Clutching a bottle of cheap wine in her hand – a souvenir from the bandits – she closed her eyes and reveled in an alcohol-induced haze of blood-soaked memories and ethereal melodies.

Lucien stood, watching the odd sight before him. A tiny slip of a girl, with hair as wild as a mountain lion's mane, lay in the comforting embrace of a towering oak tree. Her head swayed from side to side as she hummed snatches of an soul-freezing lullaby. Her hand slipped, spilling wine across the ground, where it mixed with the blood that drenched the grass and became indistinguishable. The scattered corpses of weather-hardened cutthroats surrounded her tiny campsite, and a flickering purple fire danced to her crooning. He'd watched the battle from atop his perch in a tree, marveling in the way she'd danced from one victim to another, her curious dagger singing a death's requiem for each of the men who had disturbed her slumber. He'd approved of her method, graceful if somewhat amateur, and admired the way she had giggled at each death rattle. But when she had paused in front of the final member of the gang, a young Breton boy, barely 15 years old, he had watched expectantly. Would she spare him? He had not attacked her, but was instead cowering on the floor in front of her, begging for her mercy. She had looked down on him silently for some minutes, as his pleas became more and more hysterical. Finally, she had held out a small hand, and helped him to his feet. His grateful thanks were grating on Lucien's ears, and he almost turned away in disgust. In a flash, the girl had locked her arm around the young boy's shoulders and bit savagely into his throat. A gargled scream pierced the air, and his blood sprayed towards the moons like a sacrificial fountain. He slumped to his knees, unable to draw breath, until finally she released him, planting her foot between his ribs and slowly pushing him down to the ground. His eyes glazed over and he breathed his last. Lucien watched, fascinated, as the girl shuddered and smiled blissfully to herself.

_'Ungolim never mentioned anything about her being a vampire!' _Lucien cursed silently, his previous run-ins with the Noble Undead had left him wary of their strength. He didn't even completely trust Vicente, the old and venerable vampire who resided in his Sanctuary in Cheydinhal, and _he_ was like a father to him. Keeping his wits about him, Lucien steadied himself and slipped out of the tree. Eventually, the girl had returned to her slumber, her lullaby fading into soft sighs as she slipped into the realms of Vaermina. Lucien decided to wait a while longer, lest he be outmatched. He was still wary of what unknown feats she was capable of.

After about an hour, he crept over to her sleeping form. She didn't look like she had much in the way of brute strength, but he could feel the hum of magicka emanating from her. Clearly, she was a powerful mage. Moving as silently as a shadow, he carefully cast a spell that would render her unable to use her power. It wouldn't do to have her blast him to Oblivion and back before he had a chance to talk to her. Satisfied that he was safe from any supernatural harm, he relaxed. As he studied her face, he found all his anger from the previous week slowly return. Four whole days, he'd searched for her. Four days! He simmered in fury, and decided that he was going to initiate contact with a veil of thinly disguised rage. It would do well for his pride to see her cower before him. She stirred in her sleep, murmering drowsily. He paused, and resumed his study. She was tiny, no doubt of Bosmer heritage, but she was unlike any human or elf he had ever seen. He marvelled at how clear and white her skin was with the moonlight caressing her cheekbones. She wasn't what he would consider beautiful, but she had a strange ethereal charm about her. Crouching down next to her, he reached out and wrapped his hand firmly around her throat. She awoke in an instant, lashing out with both arms and struggling to drag herself out of her self-induced wine stupor. Upon seeing him crouching over he, she mouthed the words of a spell, a gleam of confident and sadistic glee in her eyes as she expected her attacker to burst into flames. Nothing happened. Confused, she tried again. Caution crept into her face as she regarded this mysterious stranger. Despite him clearly having incapacitated her, and the fact that his hand was still wrapped around her neck, he hadn't hurt her. Warily, like a cornered beast, she ceased struggling and looked at the man in black. Satisified that she wouldn't cause any trouble, Lucien slowly released her. She sat up and skittered away from him, but he sensed no fear. No waves of terror rolling off her, merely a curious and cautious glance. Why did she not fear him? Why wasn't she cowering before him? His blood began to simmer again as he regarded her coolly, each waiting for the other to speak. When it became clear that she would remain silent indefinitely, Lucien cleared his throat.

"You sleep rather soundly for a murderer. Or rather, you are able to pass out drunk rather easily after the callous and cold-hearted massacre of this gang of men. I like that."

She looked at him curiously, searching for an answer in his face to a question she hadn't asked. She wet her lips nervously, before speaking in a low, controlled voice.

"Not cold-hearted. Never that. I take great _joy_ in what I do." Her words held a tinge of pride and she smirked to herself.

Lucien grinned inwardly, but kept his face stern. Normally, people rushed to deny that they were killers. They couldn't accept the consequences of their actions, and would rant and rave and wail. He had no time for puling little weaklings, and her answer was a refreshing change of pace.

"Be that as it may, my dear. I have a proposition for you."

She arched a delicate eyebrow in response.

"Oh, you do?" Her tone was polite, yet there was an underlying threat of a challenge under the sarcasm. Lucien smirked.

_'At least this one has some fight in her,' _he mused, stroking his chin with a long finger.

"Indeed. I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And _you_, you are a killer. A taker of lives. A harvester of souls. Your work, _your deathcraft_, pleases the Night Mother. And so, I come to you with an offering. An opportunity... to join our rather _unique_ family."

Lucien grinned. He knew his speech would enthrall her, and her morbid fascination would not allow her to deny him. He had perfected this eloquent speech many years ago, and knew each word by heart. His delivery was guaranteed to make the victim shiver, to send a thrill of terrified anticipation up his or her spine. It was designed to ensure the proper respect and fear that he, a venerated Speaker, a ruthless assassin, one of the ultimate Children Of Sithis, deserved...

"Quite the one for fancy speeches, aren't we? How long did you practice that particular little ditty in front of a mirror for, eh?" She snorted derisively and cocked her head to the side. Lucien was speechless. Nobody had ever dared speak to him like that. Who was this girl, that she could dismiss him so easily? His fury rose to the surface once again, and once again he grasped her throat. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a brief flash of surprise before she masked her features in cold contempt. But he had seen it. No matter how brief, no matter how fleeting, he had seen her fear before she had buried it away. Satisfied, he loosened his grip, but did not release her.

"I must say, I find your etiquette rather refreshing. You really are a delightful little thing, aren't you?" he countered, sarcasm rolling off his tongue. The girl sneered, then tensed as he brought his face closer to her. She smelled of blood and death, but there was an underlying scent of wild strawberries and the sweet smell of warm perfume. It smelled like safety, and he was tempted to relax.

_'Why am I so tense? Look at her, she seems so... innocent. Harmless, even. There is no way she could possibly be any threat to me_... ' As soon as these thought entered it, Lucien shook his head to clear them out. He narrowed his eyes dangerously. There was some trickery afoot, despite the spell preventing her from using her magic. It was cunningly designed to make him drop his guard, using the trigger of memories through smell to make him relax, the better for her to attack with the element of surprise. '_An ingenious defense mechanism,' _he chuckled to himself, '_I wonder how she thought of it?'_

"You have yet to tell me _your_ name, little girl. I was generous enough to grace you with mine. That is awfully rude, my dear, wouldn't you agree?" he whispered softly against her ear. She seemed to get more uncomfortable when he encroached upon her personal space, so of course he had no intention of backing off. He heard her breath hitch in anger, and the side of his mouth lifted into a lop-sided sneer. This was far too easy.

"One would hate to have to question your upbringing, after all." He waited for her response, but none came. She sat there, silent as the night, seething and glaring daggers at him.

_'Oh, if looks could kill,'_ he thought with dry amusement.

He tightened his grip again, and was delighted to hear her gasp faintly. She moved to grab his hand, as if to pry his fingers from around her neck. Before she could, he grabbed her wrist and forced it down. Temporarily bereft of her magic, they had to resort to a simple battle of strength, but he was so much stronger than she. He felt her fury and reveled in it. She struggled against him, managing to slip her wrist free and striking him hard across the shoulder. He winced involuntarily – she had somehow hit directly the same place as the bruise from the Bravil guard's shield, almost as if she had known. He gritted his teeth and caught her fist as she swung at him again. There was very little strength in her strikes, but he still didn't want to chance it. His hand enclosed her tiny fist entirely, and he squeezed until she stopped struggling and flinched with the pain as her knuckles popped slightly. It made him smile. He didn't often have to resort to a show of physical dominance, but he did so enjoy it when he did. The girl was trembling furiously, her heartbeat drumming almost painfully loudly in her chest.

"So rude," he admonished gently, "And after I came all this way just to speak to you."

Her rage abated slightly as her curiosity was piqued, and she regarded him with a scathing look. She wriggled within his grasp, and he rather reluctantly released her.

"If you absolutely _must_ know, my name is Tallys." she snapped at him. Inside, he practically crowed at her surrender, but he kept a stern, cold gaze on his face. He was nothing if not a professional.

"No last name?" It wasn't unusual in itself – illegitimate children were plentiful in such uncertain times.

"Not one that I am aware of." Her answer was clipped – clearly, she had no wish to reveal the details of her past to Lucien. To be fair to her, though, few in his profession ever did.

"I assume you have no knowledge of the Dark Brotherhood and what we do, judging solely from your lack of respect. Have you even heard of us, _Tallys_? Have you heard of the terror we inspire? The souls we send screaming and howling to lay at the feet of our Dread Father? Our venerable organisation, which was born from the Night Mother herself, so many centuries ago?" She sighed, bored.

"Oh, _perfect_. The first person I meet who I can't kill in this shitty realm turns out to be a religious nutcase. I hope you don't think to turn me into some sacrificial relic to this _Night Mother_? And murdering in the name of a deity? What kind of twisted worship is that, anyway?"

"I wouldn't say worship. We praise our Unholy Matron, it's true." He replied, silkily.

"From her shadowed womb we were born, from her breast we suckle malice and pain. She _loves_ her children, you see..." he drawled. He was really enjoying this girl's spirit, yet it both angered and amused him that still she dared to speak to him in such a disrespectful tone. He would look forwards to teaching her some manners.

"That's all very nice, _sir_. But I'm tired, and still rather drunk. You mentioned a propostition? Out with it, or I'm going back to sleep."

His palm itched. He wanted so badly to strike her for her insolence. But he was a man who prided himself on his self-control. He suspected she was trying to bait him on purpose, and he refused to give her the satisfaction. He pushed his anger into the deep recesses of his mind, and forced himself to calm down. He had a job to do, and he would not give Ungolim another reason to lay into him.

At his silence, she rolled her eyes and turned away. He grabbed her wrist again, and she bristled at the contact.

_'If he's not careful, he'll lose that hand,' _she thought. She turned her black gaze back to Lucien, and he told her what she must do in order to join his _most venerable organisation._


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: As you can probably tell, this story starts a few years before the Dark Brotherhood timeline during The Oblivion Crisis. This means there will be some characters you recognise, and a few new ones. I wanted to establish Tallys' place before introducing the HoK, so it would seem more realistic.  
Any reviews are welcome, as this is my first fanfic and I'm anxious to know how people receive it. _

_Chapter Three._

Tallys wandered along the Blue Road, mindlessly humming to herself. It had been three days since her midnight meeting with the man in black. She had followed his instructions immediately the following morning, easily catching up to the young Altmer maiden whom she had been required to shuffle loose the mortal coil, as it were. She had caught her just outside of the Imperial City, and had slain her without a second thought. There had barely been a struggle – one swift slice across her stomach was all it took. The elf had been left to lay in a pool of her own innards on the road, in plain sight. There was no need to hide the body, and quite frankly, Tallys simply didn't care to try. She rambled along, taking in the scenery between admiring the onyx blade that Lachance had given to her.

_'It's more decorative than practical_, she mused, _but it certainly has an elegance to it.' _She stroked a white finger across the gold-wrapped hilt, and thought back to that night...

"_Know that this victim may look as innocent as they come, but her heart is as black as the Void itself." Lucien had avoided telling his new charge as to the unfortunate habit that this supposed 'victim' possessed – namely, a penchant for Destruction magic, and a tendency to use her superior arcane skills of necromancy to make undead slaves out of all who crossed her. It's not that he wanted the girl to worry; he wanted to make her suffer for her indifferent treatment of him. If she died, then it was no great loss. But if she survived, it would certainly be a lesson she would be unlikely to forget. It was win-win as far as he was concerned._

_The following night, he had returned to her. He had observed the kill, and once again found himself admiring her primal grace. She had not fed upon this victim, despite being drenched in blood. He found himself wondering if she was a pureblood vampire at all, for she displayed none of the usual signs, save for her tiny fangs. She seemed unaffected by sunlight, yet there was no doubt she possessed what Valtieri charmingly referred to as 'The Hunter's Sight'. Making a mental note to ask her of her curious condition at a later date, he had braced himself for another battle with his control as he had moved to waken her._

_His arm had reached out to shake her awake, but before he could touch her, he had found himself thrown flat on his back and pinned there, unable to move, by a strong freezing spell. He had roared in outrage, and fought against it until he was exhausted. The girl didn't seem fazed, she had merely regarded him coolly as she sat there.._

"_Are you quite finished?" she had asked haughtily, once his struggles had ceased, some ten minutes later._

"_Is this quite necessary?" he had countered coldly. She had laughed outright at that, a high musical giggle that washed over his ears like the strains of a lute. _

"_Necessary? Not at all. It is, however, hilarious. A big, bad assassin, rendered helpless by a girl half his size." His fury had peaked at her words, until at last and with a furious roar, he had burst through her magic and leaped at her, dagger in hand. She may have been naturally fast, but years of training meant that he was faster. He had grabbed her by her wild mane of black curls and pushed his blade against her delicate throat, its edge twitching in time to her suddenly racing pulse._

"_Hilarious, is it?" His voice had growled at her, menacing and sadistic. Her laughter died away, as she beheld his face. Normally a calm, cold mask of indifference, his features were contorted in a ferocious snarl and his eyes burned with barely controlled violence. She had froze, and waited for the death blow, unwilling to back down and too proud to beg for her life. After several long and tense minutes, he still hadn't moved, and they had both remained as statues, staring at each other. Eventually, his breathing had evened out, his heart rate had slowed and his face had shifted back to normal. Once he had calmed down, he had laughed humourlessly. _

"_It's lucky that the Tenets prevent me from killing you right here and now, little one" he had breathed, his hand still shaking from how badly he wanted to sink his blade into her flesh. _

"_Lucky me", she had replied, quietly, all trace of cynicism gone. He had snorted in disparagement, and stepped back. She had wrapped her arms around herself, wary of the demon she had nearly released._

"_So..." she had mumbled,_

"_What now?"_

As she entered Cheydinhal, Tallys relaxed. She hadn't realised how nervous she had been, an entirely alien feeling to her. She shrugged off the feeling she had carried for the previous few hours – threatening eyes watching her, judging her every move.

_'I'm just being paranoid_,' she reassured herself. Looking around, she assessed her surroundings. The city itself was beautiful, with picturesque little houses, and neat little gardens, the setting sun glinting off of the wrought iron fences that bordered them. It hardly seemed a place likely to house a guild of murderous assassins, but she knew better than most that appearances could be - and were often - deceiving.

_'Which house is it?'_ She cast her mind back to her 'conversation' with that damned Lachance, snarling to herself as she did so. That man had made her blood boil – she had wanted to end his life almost as soon as he had opened his arrogant mouth. Breathing deeply to calm herself lest she draw attention, she sifted through her memories until she found what she was looking for.

_'An old, rundown and abandoned house, on the outskirts of town. Look across from the chapel, and enter through the front door.'_

She followed the twisting road, and climbed the flight of steps up to the chapel door. She secreted herself in a shadowy alcove off to the side, cautious in case any of the guards should ask her what her business was, and stood facing the ruined house. It was a blight on the otherwise pristine vista, and she wondered why none of the locals had sought to fix it. It say nestled between two grand villas, an eyesore, broken and dilapidated. But as she observed from her hidden corner in the lengthening darkness, she noticed that although a number of people had walked right past it, they barely gave it a second glance. Either it had been there for so long that people had ceased to notice it, or it was hidden through arcane means.

_'Clever, but it hardly seems fitting for what should be such grand headquarters.' _She hadn't been sure what to expect, but she knew it wasn't this.

_'Enter the house through the front door, and make your way to the cellar.' _

Easy enough. But there was no way that she was going to enter so obviously. If this was the guildhall of such critically acclaimed professional killers, there was no way in Oblivion that she was going to waltz so carelessly through their front door and straight into any traps they would have undoubtedly set. Surveying the front of the house, she noticed a broken window pane conveniently located on the ground floor. Upon closer inspection, there seemed little debris on the sill, so Tallys surmised that it must be the usual entrance for those who resided within. She shimmied through the broken window, careful not to snag her recently 'acquired' shirt on the jagged glass. Landing cat-like inside, she drew her knife and listened for any sounds. There were no shimmering purple auras indicating lifeforms around her, so she carefully crept towards the far side of the room as silently as she could. There was rubbish littered all around – shattered furniture, scraps of mouldering cloth, glints of tarnished silverware. Dust had settled around in layers inches thick in some places, but it seemed shallower on certain parts of the floor. Crouching low, Tallys noticed that the dust marked a faint path across the threadbare carpet, leading out through the far wall and into what would have long ago been a grand hallway. The faint path led her to a small door tucked under the stairs, swathed in shadow. Keeping her footsteps light and her ears pricked, the girl tiptoed towards it, before slowly pulling it open. It swung easily on silent hinges, confirming her theory. This was indeed the right path.

_'In the cellar, there is a gap in the original wall, with a red tunnel that slopes down. It leads to a door, and if your fragile little heart can bear it, you will hear a voice; the words of the Death Whisper.'_

Tallys had no idea what a _Death Whisper_ was, and needless to say, she was anxious about finding out. Grimacing, she ran a white hand through her tangled mane of hair. She glanced over her shoulder and sighed ruefully, before straightening her shirt and squaring her shoulders. It would not do well to appear weak and afraid in front of a gang of assassins.

_'What... is the colour... of the night?' _

A spectral voice brushed against her, an ancient, breathy sound that conjured images of cobwebs and crypts. It sounded like a whispered echo through an endless black abyss. It made her skin itch, and her hair stand on end. She stood before a large door, although it was quite unlike any door she had ever seen. It seemed to emanate an aura of unspeakable evil. She gazed, entranced, at the figures carved into its surface. A huge red skull hung in the black sky, over a dark-haired skeletal woman holding what appeared to be a baby in one hand, and a huge dagger in the other. Four other figures, bones glinting in the red light, stood in the background of the scene raising their fleshless hands in penance. A large handprint blazed upon the forehead of the skull, and the deep black holes where its eyes would have been seemed to draw her in and drown her. The silence in the tunnel seemed oppressive, as if the shadowy voice was waiting and the red light bathed the trembling girl's form, causing the crimson sheen in her hair to glint. What had Lachance said the password was? Tallys wracked her brains, scared to think what would happen if she could not provide the answer. The colour of night – she knew a simple 'black' would not suffice. She thought back to the dazzling array of colour that had accounted for the night sky back in the Isles, but she knew that the voice was searching for something else. Would it simply let her walk out of here if she remained silent? Would she be forced to fight some hideous creature from the Void as a test?

'_Damn that smug bastard, he's set me up'_, she thought angrily.

_'Sanguine, my Brother.'_

The answer whispered inside her head, and Lucien's smirking face flashed in her mind. Baring her teeth at the memory, but secretly glad that she had found the answer, Tallys cleared her throat and answered, trying to sound confident. There was a brief pause, which caused self-doubt to niggle at her mind, before there was a warm gust of air and the door swung open, revealing a vast stone room with torches set at regular intervals and large banners bearing a single black handprint adorned every wall.

_'Welcome home.'_

Tallys settled into her new bed with an exhausted sigh. It had been a while since she had slept on anything but the hard ground, and she found it strange that she should feel so safe in an underground mansion full of people who killed _other_ people for a living. There seemed a strangely comfortable irony in that. Strange it may seem, but true enough. The girl couldn't recall a time when she had been so relaxed, even in the Isles, safe and sound with her thoughts and as many severed limbs as a child could want. And the Dunmer matron who had greeted her had promised a late rising the next day, saying that she could rest as long as she needed to without interruptions before she started her training. She grimaced as she recalled her mother's method of waking her up each morning – a swift and painful shock to the soles of her feet with magic. This had two undesired results, of course. One - it meant that Tallys was an atrocious morning person, and two – if anybody touched the bottom of her feet, they would receive a fast and vicious kick to the face. She hoped nobody would be foolish enough to try and tickle her awake, as she didn't want anybody to needlessly hate her through a broken nose. Animosity in a normal workplace was fine enough; animosity in the Brotherhood was practically fatal, regardless of the Tenets.

After nearly a full day spent asleep, the new recruit still hadn't stirred. The Argonian twins were growing restless, and their desire for mischief grew. Despite Marmora explaining that _"the poor little dear looked as if she was ready to drop", _a statement which had caused Lachance to snort in derision before taking off back to that musty old fortress that he was currently renovating. Ocheeva sniffed delicately in distaste – he always tracked dust and a horrid damp smell through the Sanctaury when he travelled from Farragut.  
Beside her, Teinavva's tail twitched impatiently. His claws tapped out a rhythm upon his leather-clad knees, which he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. He had been fidgeting for nearly an hour now. Ocheeva was undeniably the more patient of the two, and she knew it was only a matter of time before her energetic brother snapped. He despised waiting. Huffing irritably, he finally turned to his eggmate.

"She never explicitly said that we _couldn't _go wake her up!" he whined. Ocheeva snorted.

"True, but the implication was clear enough. Don't argue semantics when it comes to the Tenets. You don't want to have to face The Wrath Of Sithis over so trivial a matter, do you?"

Her brother frowned, his eyecrests drawing together over lidless eyes. He squirmed in his seat, like a hatchling throwing a tantrum. After a few tense minutes, he shot up and ran through the heavy doors that sectioned the sleeping quarters from the main room.  
"I'll just go see if she's already awake! There's no harm in that."

Ocheeva sighed and rose to her feet, prepared to follow. She was curious to see the odd little creature that Marmora had described, but she was reluctant to disobey the older elf. She strode across the stone floor, her tail whispering behind her as she approached the open doors. No sooner had she reached them then she heard a dull thud, followed by Teinavva howling in pain. She shot through the doors, unsheathing her knives as she ran, only to stop dead at the sight before her. Curled up on the floor, blood gushing out of his nose, Teinavva was moaning and thrashing. Her gaze slid up to the furious bundle of black curls and glaring eyes hovering over him, foot raised in aggression. For such a small thing to have caused that much damage with a single blow, Ocheeva mused, she must be either extremely strong or extremely angry.

"What on Nirn did you do?!"

"She kicked me in the face!" Teinavva's voice was thick and indignant through the blood. He sat up and scurried backwards to his own bunk, careful not to take his eyes off his offender.

"Not her, dull-scales! What did _you _do?" came the exasperated response. Teinavva glanced up at his twin, almost speechless. After gaping his mouth like a fish, he pointed accusingly at the latest recruit.

"_How is this my fault?!" _

"He tickled my feet. It woke me up." The new girl's voice was lyrical, but her words were short and clipped. She kept her body twisted towards the vehement man glowering at her sullenly as he tended his wounds, tearing strips off a roll of cotton, but addressed her words to the female. She had seen the lizard-people once or twice in the Isles – she idly wondered if they were all as obsessed with forks as Big Head was rumoured to have been – but she had never had the opportunity to study one up close. The female was brighter in colour than the male, and they looked almost identical. True, there was rarely any nuances between Argonians other than the colouring of their scales, but Tallys guessed they were at least blood-related.

"So, it _is _your fault then, brother. Marmora told you to leave the child be." Ocheeva turned smugly, before crossing the stone floor to approach this new addition to the family. Sensing his silent fuming, she attempted to console him.

"Stop sulking, Tein. I'm sure she didn't mean it." Ocheeva tried to sound soothing, but he presented such an amusing sight, sitting all curled up on his bunk with rolls of cotton shoved up his slitted nostrils to stop the bleeding and a huge purple bruise spreading over his cheekbones. She snickered to herself, before trying to mask it as a cough as he turned his furiously indignant gaze to her. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the tiny girl in front of her. She also presented an odd sight – barely over 5 feet tall and with pointed ears, she could have been a Bosmer, but her pale skin and black hair put paid to that notion. And then there were the fangs. Ocheeva could tell she was no full-blooded vampire, but nothing in her numerous scrolls and bound leather tomes spoke of half-breeds. As far as she was aware, vampires were incapable of breeding offspring. She made a mental note to sit Vicente down and discuss it at length with him as soon as she was able.

Despite the sight of her former 'assailant' whimpering so pitifully in the corner of the room, the girl had not let her guard down. She remained wary and stiff, almost ready to bolt. Ocheeva remembered how nervous she had been when she had first joined the Brotherhood. At least she had not been alone – Teinavva had been with her every day since they were hatched. With this is in mind, she straightened her narrow shoulders and pasted a welcoming grin on her scaly lips.

"So, what's your name? Where did you come from? What did Mr Lachance say to you? How many have you killed?..."  
"For the love of the Nightmother, you two! Leave the poor child alone!" came Marmora's indignant voice as the matronly elf bustled through the heavy door. She had a pile of blankets and towels folded over her arms, and a large sack slung over one shoulder that clinked as she huffed and puffed to stand before the bed. One would not believe that she had been a fiercesome assassin in her day – she looked more like a baker's wife – but everybody knew not to underestimate her. Even Lucien was respectful to her, as she was one of the best poisoners this side of the Valus Mountains. But Tallys knew none of this, so she merely observed as the first of the strange inhabitants of this subterranean lair began to make themselves known to her.

"Right then, well here are your linens for your bed and bath. I've folded them now, so put them straight into the trunk or Schemer will drag them off to his nest. Here's your new armour – softest and most supple leather you'll ever find, enchanted and as black as the Void. Only the best for my _chillings_." Teinavva groaned at this – he was always trying to assert his matureness, but to a 185-year old Dunmer, everybody is a child. The mistress of the Sanctuary glanced sharply at him, before exclaiming loud and shrilly "Lawks-a-mussy! Whatever happened, dearie?"  
A swift glance at the new girl meant that Teinavva saw the challenge in her face. A raised eyebrow and the hint of a smirk meant that she was confident that he wouldn't blab. He deliberated – if he told on her, she'd get reprimanded and he'd probably get fussed over for a few hours. On the other claw, he'd been told to leave her alone and he didn't want anybody else – particularly Gogron – to know he'd been decked by a tiny little girl. The seconds dragged on as Marmora's concerned face slowly began to frown.  
"I'll ask you again, Teinavva. What happened to your face?" The Argonian looked as uncomfortable as an Argonian could look. He shifted from one foot to the other sheepishly, and the tip of his tail twitched.  
"I ran into the door. I wanted to meet the new recruit, and I was careless," he mumbled under his breath. Ocheeva shook her head. Her brother was no actor, but Marmora seemed satisfied.

"Well, go find Ulvanna. She'll fix it up quick as anything. I think she's downstairs with that new apprentice of hers, M'raaj-Da is it?" She deposited the items onto the end of the bed, and shooed the two lizards out of the way.

"Go on now, off you go. I've got to get our new girl settled in."


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

More members of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary had trickled in by the time Tallys emerged from the dormitories. She'd spent the last few hours being vigorously scrubbed and garbed in the strange black clothes that the Dunmer matron had so cheerfully provided. Eager to point out every feature and enchantment, the woman had insisted upon taking an inordinate amount of time for the fitting. Tallys didn't particularly care what protective runes had been stitched into the lining, or what magical grease had been worked into the leather – she was just glad they were clean and fit well. The bloodstained shirt she had stolen off of her first bandit victim had stunk to high Aetherius; a nauseating combination of sweat, blood and road dust. Her new clothes were specially enchanted to be odourless - "So nobody can smell you coming dear, those beast-folk can be tricky to sneak up on!" - of which she sent a fervent prayer of thanks to the Madgod. Red and shiny from the scrubbing, head sore from the intensity of the combing Marmora had given her wild mane - "I've never seen anything like it. It's as knotted as an Imperial Councilman's tongue!" - she emerged cautiously into the warm and brightly lit common room. There was a lull in the conversation, as all the assassins present paused to assess her, before smiling in welcome and turning back to their individual activities. A pale man with long dark hair was perched by the fire reading a old leather bound tome, while a Bosmer sat curled at the feet of an enormous Orc, the former whittling new arrows as the latter tore voraciously into what seemed to be a whole chicken. The two Argonians she had met earlier were sitting in the corner, playing a game of cards; and there was a tall and hulking Redguard intently studying a map at the nearby desk. Marmora ushered her over to the reading man and introduced her as the latest recruit.

"Welcome, my dear. My name is Vicente Valtieri, and I am one of the senior members of this Sanctuary." He stood to shake her hand, and his voice was rich and kind.

"Now, as I understand it, you've already met our Sanctuary Mistress, Marmora" - at this, the mistress in question gave a sardonic curtsy - "The Shadowscale twins, Teinavva and Ocheeva" - the Argonians looked up, Ocheeva giving a small wave and Teinavva grudgingly twitching his tail in acknowledgement - "And our illustrious Speaker, Lucien Lachance, who is elsewhere at the moment but who will no doubt drop by at some point this week to check up on you..." He paused as the girl hissed in distaste under her breath. He smiled to himself as he considered Lucien's response to the _preposterous_ notion that not all females were so easily swayed by his charms.

He walked the girl over to the centre of the room, and admired the way she immediately crouched down slightly, as if preparing for flight. Her reflexes may have been good, but she would soon learn that this was a safe place and that the Tenets would protect her here. Clearing his throat loudly, he addressed the gathering of assassins.

"Our new sister, ladies and gentlemen. No doubt it would be prudent to have an introductory session _before_ dinner is prepared, so that you may all eat in peace later." With that, he turned and bowed his head slightly before slinking out of the room. Tallys tensed as she realised all eyes were now on her. The Bosmer unfurled herself and strode confidently over to her.  
"My name is Taelendril. I've been with the Brotherhood for nearly three years now. You're going to love it here, I promise." Tallys smiled weakly in response, just as the Orc swooped down and scooped her up in a bone-crushing bear hug. She gasped for breath as a booming voice over head proclaimed his name to be Gogron and how happy he was to meet her.  
"Gogron! Put her down, she's far too _delicate_ for such boisterous treatment!" sniffed the Redguard disdainfully, who by now had marched over to the assembly. The Orc lowered her gently to the ground before grinning ruefully. Tallys rubbed her aching ribs, and narrowed her eyes at the latest stranger. He was overbearing, as if his arrogant posture and obvious physique were compensating for something. Tallys often relied upon her gut instinct when it came to assessing new people, and in this instance she felt that she and this pompous ass would not soon be bosom companions.

"By Sithis, girl. You're such a _tiny_ thing! How on Nirn are you supposed to be a danger to _anything_? I think even Schemer here could take you!" Her ire grew as he burst into mocking laughter as he indicated the large rat that was currently sniffing its way curiously around the door jamb. Tallys glowered at him from under her lashes, but said nothing. She willed herself to calm down, as she was sure there was no way she would be able to do him any real damage anyway. Lachance had made sure to explicitly explain the nature of The Five Tenets to her, speaking with much exaggerated chagrin as to the rule pertaining to Brotherhood members harming one another. It seemed he was just as likely to want to cause her injury as she was him.  
_But if this fetcher insults me just one more time... _Restraining herself, she allowed her mind to turn instead to imagine the hypothetical results, her eyes glazing over. Violent images of bodies torn asunder and spattered bloodstains flooded her brain and she smiled in self-satisfaction as the Redguard bundled away, still chortling to himself. Taelendril gave an aggrieved sigh and shook her head at his retreating body.  
"That's Kilm. He's from another Sanctuary," she murmured conspiratorially. "Every now and then we host for visiting Brothers and Sisters, but he's one of the worst. Nobody here likes him, but he should be gone within the next month or so." She winked and sauntered back to her rug by Gogron's chair. The Orc turned to his newest Sister and apologised for hurting her. Tallys immediately straightened up, claiming she was fine. It wouldn't do to allow them to think her weak, no matter how friendly they seemed. The Orc appeared to follow her train of thought, as he accepted her statement readily enough. His head nodded brusquely, even as his yellow eyes crinkled in a kind smile.

"Of course. Forgive me." He settled back into his chair, narrowly avoiding Taelendril's head with his plated elbow and gestured to the empty seat in front of the crackling fire. "Now, why don't you sit down and tell us about yourself?"  
Tallys complied, perching upon the back of the cushion like a little bird. Her eyes were gleaming in the firelight. She helped herself to an apple from the polished silver dish beside her and rubbed it methodically upon her sleeve until it shone like a ruby. Considering it from all angles, she took a small bite, crunching it between her pointed teeth. It would nice to be able to casually eat something she found laying around without Mother screeching about "missing specimens" afterwards.

"What do you want to know?" she asked quietly.

Ocheeva frowned in consternation. The girl was talking utter rot. She claimed to be from "The Isles", although there was definitely no way she meant Summerset. If her story was to be believed, her home was another realm entirely, a strange land where all the inhabitants were crazy, monsters roamed and they were ruled by a Madgod. The room had slowly grown silent as she wove her tale, with everybody looking disbelieving, or in Gogron's case merely confused. Tapping a serrated claw against her goblet, Ocheeva's face looked grim. She was well aware that most new recruits were not eager to share the details of their likely sordid pasts, but none had ever created such a fantastical back story. Questions as to the girl's undefined heritage had been met with a careless half-shrug and a cryptic _only_ _Mother would know_. Tugging her tunic straight, Ocheeva stood and resolved to arrange a meeting with Vicente as soon as possible to discuss the matter. The girl could be a bit too unhinged even for the Brotherhood. She could be a danger, and there was no guarantee that Lachance would reveal more about her. Perhaps the old vampire would be able to pry a few answers from Speaker Lachance next time he visited.

Unfortunately, Speak Lachance was rather tied up at the moment. A failed conjuration spell had resulted in the three skeletons he was _trying_ to resurrect and enslave as Dark Guardians turning upon him and attempting to cleave him in twain with silver battle axes. As such, he was thoroughly occupied in much more mundane matters than greeting his newest Sister. Defending himself against three undead opponents whilst simultaneously avoiding the new dart traps he had only just set up was taxing at best and slightly more fatal at worst. Hurling fireballs and dodging axe-swings, Lucien managed to maneuver his first opponent into a corner and take off its head with a sharply jabbed fist. The bones crumpled to the floor, skull skittering away and slipping down the grate.

_Fantastic, _he griped. _How am I supposed to find another complete skeleton before nightfall?_ Pushing away his thoughts as the two remaining guardians continued in their quest to permanently separate his head from his shoulders, he froze them and quickly finished the correct incantation before they broke through the ice. They bowed their bleached heads in acquiescence, and he pointed to their fallen brother.  
"Clean that away" he barked, brushing the dust from his shirt. The two skeletons nodded and obediently began to gather the scatter bones. He swept past them imperiously into his newly-finished lair and thew himself into his chair.

_I suppose I'll just have to make do with two. Damn Vicente – he must be having a riot, knowing he gave me the wrong curse!_ Grimacing, he poured a goblet of wine and sulked by the waning firelight.

As the smoke from numerous breakfast fires rose from chimneys all over Cheydinhal, Vicente Valtieri retreated to his room to avoid a somewhat fatal sunburn. Using a taper, he lit the candles by the door to sweep away the subterranean gloom and settled himself at his desk. Shifting some of the scrolls to the floor, he chuckled to himself as he glanced at the top one – a conjuration spell for energising skeletons. The bottom few lines were conspicuously scrawled over, rendering them illegible. He sincerely hoped Lucien hadn't received any serious injuries, but the image of the usually unruffled and stoic Speaker's face as he fended off such unexpected results was far too amusing to ruin it by dwelling upon guilt.

Still chortling to himself, he spread a fresh sheet of parchment in front him, admiring its clean and unblemished state. There is always such a beautiful potential in blank papers; with the right tools one can create a masterpiece or a symphony. Once could paint a whole new world. One could write down an idea, and some 150 years later a complete stranger could find it and read it. Your long-dead voice transcribed into the mind of a person totally unaware of your existence, a connection forged through time. Quite amazing really...

Vicente sharpened his quill and begin writing – his stroke was practiced and confident. His tongue poked past his fang as he concentrated:

_Will all Brothers and Sisters, (Gogron in particular) kindly remember to gather their dirty linens at the end of each week for the laundry hamper. After repeated verbal suggestion, this constitutes a physical order. Failure to do so will now be considered direct disobedience of a Superior, thus an infraction of the Tenets. _

Well, it's not as if everything could be inspired or beautiful.

_Smoke also rose from the chimneys dotting the cavernous dwelling that shrunk into the living rock itself. The Sanctum of Vivisection needed ventilation as much as any home, particularly if one is burning less conventional fuel. Bones tend to create a chalky smoke, whilst the smell of blazing hair will send even the anosmic running. Good airflow was vital. Relmyna often had her furnaces burning through the night, as nobody could foresee when she might be overtaken by some gloriously unnatural notion. She too sat in her chambers, head bent and brow furrowed over her desk strewn with equations as she struggled to make the numbers fit. Magic was much more than arcane skill – to apply it properly, there was a great deal of mathematical equations to be worked through in order to gain its full potential. Now that her daughter was no longer with her, Relmyna was forced to rely upon that oafish s'wit Nanette for help. The girl was useful in the more menial tasks, it was true, but any real application of knowledge and she folded like a pack of Khajiiti Paq'ra players. Still, her Lord and love Sheogorath had seen fit to remove her daughter from her, as was his right – no doubt for some heinous mission that she herself had not been made privy too. Far be it for her to complain, but she did miss her Tallys so. Now there was a bloodthirsty monster, an amalgam of all Relmyna's skill. Far more subtle than her birth-mate – the great Gate-keeper, who had been created more.. robust... than his baby sister – the sorceress had lavished all her finesse upon her sweet little serial killer. Relmyna sighed as visions of her beloved flashed through her head, as he demanded she relinquish their child over to him. Salted tears rose in her eyes, burning her as they went. She repressed them – it wouldn't do to cry with such acidity._

_She threw down her quill in anguish, and flung herself dramatically across the room to sprawl across her bed. Dry sobs racked her body and she wailed and screeched, tearing her hair as she mourned the loss of her baby.  
Nanette Don casually lifted her head as yet more screams permeated the thick air. _

_'All in a day's work', she muttered to herself as she settled down again to read, licking her finger in order to turn another gory page. _


End file.
